


Pathways

by kronette



Category: Highlander: The Series, Quantum Leap
Genre: Crossover, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the final story in the arc starting with <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/615989">Bittersweet Surrender</a>, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/616053">Power Play</a> and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/616114">Life's Lessons.</a> </p><p>Methos has secluded himself from the world. It's going to take a miracle to get him to face life again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pathways

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first attempt at Quantum Leap in fic, originally posted in 1997 under my other pseud, Shelley Wright. It doesn't quite fit into any one category, being a relatively gen story (except for mild Duncan/Methos flashbacks), and a crossover story (with the Quantum Leap universe). 
> 
> Many thanks to Bren, whose phone conversations were a source of great inspiration. And all complaints about who Sam Leaped into may be directed to her, since it was her suggestion (you know I luv ya, hon). Also thanks to Lauren for her help with the QL aspect of this story. Thanks to my beta readers Lauren, Hanna, jezia, and Dianne.

**March 13, 2003 - a rural area in middle Missouri, North America.**

The man sighed wearily, looking out over the landscape. The trees were nearly bare; only dried brown leaves hung from the stark branches. Occasionally the wind plucked them and tossed them to the ground, settling in the half-frozen puddles in the yard. The setting sun hovered just above the horizon, a small ball of light that gave little heat on this day at the end of winter.

Here, in the middle of practically nowhere, he had chosen to live. It hadn't been that long ago when he had come out of hiding; when he had met the infamous Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod...he sighed again, shoving his hands deeper into his jeans pockets. The wind was cold with a hint of snow in the air - unusual for this time of year - but the young-looking man felt nothing. Had felt nothing, ever since...

And now he was back in hiding, this time, he felt for good. He had no desire to associate with anyone. Neither Watchers, Immortals, nor mortals; they were all alike now. They all brought pain to his life. And after seeing the turn of yet another new millennia, he was tired of the pain. Tired of losing friends, of losing lovers, to the Game or to illness. He was...tired.

The sun finally sank into the glassy sky, and the oldest Immortal returned to his house, closing the door softly against the weight of the world.

~~~~

**January 23, 2004 - somewhere over South Dakota**

Amanda leaned back in the airplane seat, turning her head to look aimlessly out the window. Fluffy clouds whispered by, unseen by the Immortal. Her mind was set on the task before her.  _Methos_ , she called in her head, closing her eyes briefly and remembering him as she had last seen him...

**February 15, 2001**

Amanda stood beside her car, hesitating. A light mist was falling, adding to the gloom she already felt. She didn't need the Buzz telling her another Immortal was nearby; her eyes were already locked on him, studying him.

His back was to her, his head tilted up as he stared at the dojo. Or rather, the structure that held what used to be the dojo. Firefighters were still pumping water onto it, making sure the last of the fire was out. Glass twinkled on the ground, halfway across the street - a testament to the force that had ripped the building apart.

He was standing just outside the doorway, staring listlessly inside. His hands were shoved into his trench pockets, his shoulders slumped dejectedly. His clothing was rumpled, blood staining his trench as well as his shirt front, but he didn't seem to care... or notice. His jaw was darkened by stubble, but his face betrayed no emotion. It was a hard mask of complete uncaring, unfeeling.

She walked up to him, her shoes crunching the glass beneath her feet. "Methos?" Amanda whispered softly, lying a hand on his shoulder.

He didn't look at her. He didn't flinch. He just stared at the doorway, as if by sheer will, he could turn back time. She squeezed his shoulder, turning him from the building and steering him toward her car. "Come on, I'll take you home."

"Where?" Methos' voice was small, much smaller than she had ever heard it.

Her arm went around his shoulders, and she could feel his tension fill her instantly. "My place. You shouldn't be alone..."

"I _am_ alone," Methos declared, his voice devoid of emotion. "Take me to the airport."

Amanda's hand dropped from his shoulder in surprise. "Airport? I didn't know you had planned to go..."

"Take me to the airport," he commanded, finally turning his eyes to her. Empty. Cold. Dead.

A gasp flew from her lips before she could stop it. "A-all right," she stammered, directing him to her rental. He slipped inside wordlessly, she into the driver's seat. "A vacation sounds like a good idea. Get away from Seacouver for awhile. Where will you go?" she chatted nervously as she pulled away from the curb.

Methos didn't answer right away. A few blocks from the dojo, he replied, "I'm going to find someone to take my head. I want to die, Amanda."

~~~~~~~

Amanda shook her head, willing the images of Methos from her mind. It amazed her how vivid those images still were, even after two years. But then, every time she thought of Methos - and that had been a lot in the past two years - the images always seemed greater than memories. It was like an actual picture or video of him, and it was disturbing.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed all thoughts out of her mind, concentrating on the gentle hum of the engines. The humming grew louder, and her eyes flew open. Something was happening...

~~~~~~

Dr. Sam Beckett felt himself in that hazy between-place, where he knew he had just left someone's life, but hadn't quite Leapt into a new one. The wondering started again, where he was, what time it was, how Donna was, if he would ever get home again. What would happen to him if he never returned home. That was when the panic started, and before he could put it into thought, could voice it, he felt himself being drawn down, pulled together to a distinct point. The Leap finished...

"Miss? Miss, would you like something to drink?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the last dizzying effects of the Leap leave his body. The question registered in his brain, and he softly muttered, "No."

"Are you sure? Do you feel all right?" The question undoubtedly came from a flight attendant; only they could be so perky even while concerned. And considering the way Sam felt, he was positive she was talking to him. Braving it, he opened his eyes and flashed a bright smile.

"I'm fine," Sam replied, hearing his own voice and internally groaning. Quite a few octaves higher than his normal baritone, and sultrier. "It's just a bit hot in here," he explained, reaching up with a slender, delicate hand and turning on the air.

The flight attendant nodded, obviously accepting Sam's answer. He leaned back, sighing with relief. Considering all the compromising positions he had Leaped into, First Class was certainly one of the more comfortable ones. Safer too, as Sam had time to figure out who he was and what the date was. Noticing a 'New York Times' stuffed in with the flight magazines in front of him, he snatched it up.  _January 23, 2004. Have I really been Leaping this long_? he wondered, quickly scanning headlines.

He shifted in the seat, for the first time becoming aware of what he was wearing. One of the  _shortest_ skirts he'd ever seen, creeping further up his thigh as he moved. Dropping the newspaper over his lap, his slim thigh bumped against an expensive purse. Casually flicking it open, he rifled through it, looking for 'his' identification. Lipstick, powder, comb ... what was that - never mind, aha, wallet. Snapping open the dainty accessory, he internally groaned again. She - he, was gorgeous. Jet black hair falling softly to the chin, heart-shaped face, wicked twinkle in the wide eyes. Peering closer at the type, he saw that he - Amanda Darrieux, was born August 12, 1974. Currently living in Seacouver - no, wait. This driver's license was out of date, if the newspaper was correct.

Sam sighed, flipping quickly through the wallet, noting with wide eyes the assortment of credit cards and very little cash.  _Wonderful_. He dug further through the purse, unearthing two plane tickets; one made out to this Amanda, and one to a Richard Ryan. Since there was no one seated in the seat next to Sam, he figured this Richard was in the men's room, and would return in a bit. Unexpectedly, a shiver went down his spine at the thought, and he nearly dropped the purse. Gathering his scattered wits, he noted their arrival city was St. Louis. At least he knew where they were going. Stuffing everything back into the purse, he resettled it next to the armrest and leaned back, closing his eyes.

Suddenly gasping, Sam's eyes flew open. He felt something - it felt like someone was tickling his brain. His skin crawled, and he gripped the armrests fearfully.

A concerned masculine voice brought him back. "Amanda? Amanda, are you all right?" The voice belonged to a blue-eyed young man, looked to be in his early 20s.

Sam's grip loosened on the seat as the strange sensation in his head faded to a dull ache, then vanished. "Um, I'm fine," he assured the young man, guessing he was the 'Richard Ryan' on the other plane ticket. His suspicions were confirmed as the young man sat down, laying one large hand on Sam's smaller one.

"Are you sure? I felt something - weird," Richard whispered, moving in closer.

Sam instinctively moved away, shaking his head slightly. "I'm fine," he repeated. "You worry too much," he suddenly teased, surprised at his own response.

Obviously, it was not a wrong thing to say. Richard's face broke into a knowing smile, and he seemed to drop a few years into a boyish charm. "I know. You tell me constantly. But I can't help it. Ever since..."

Richard's sentence trailed off, and Sam sensed a great sadness in his eyes. "I know," Sam ventured, patting the hand covering his awkwardly.

That brought the smile back to Richard's face. "Flirt," he teased, and Sam was afraid that Richard was about to kiss him. Instead, the young man just settled back in his seat, keeping his hand on Sam's.

Sam didn't know how much longer their flight was, but things had just gotten interesting.

"Oh, boy," he muttered.

~~~~~~

January 23, 2004 - a rural area in middle Missouri, North America.

The wind wailed through the cracks in the walls, driving tiny flakes of snow with it. Methos sighed as he blinked at the sun shining through the ice-covered window. There had been a time when he welcomed winter; when the icy feel of the air felt good. Now, all he felt was numb. Numb, and incredibly tired. He rubbed his hands together, though no warmness seeped through. The house was cold. He hadn't turned on the small heater, and he hadn't brought in any wood for the fireplace. Drawing the blankets back up around himself, he snuggled into bed further, determined to spend another day there. He closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him away to the place where he wouldn't remember anymore.

But his mind wouldn't let him forget, and the dreams came again...

"Duncan!" Methos laughed, rolling over on top of the Highlander. He leaned in and kissed the tip of MacLeod's nose, tracing just under his cheekbone with his tongue, to Duncan's ear.

MacLeod groaned, his hands quickly moving to tickle the Ancient Immortal's sides. Methos squirmed, pushing his groin further into MacLeod's, their erections rubbing sensually together. Both men moaned, dragged from their playfulness to white hot desire in the space of seconds. Methos dropped his head to MacLeod's, kissing him with a forcefulness that spoke of his impassioned need of this other Immortal; he who had become his other half.

MacLeod shifted under Methos, quickly rolling them over, his hair fanning out behind him, draping over his shoulders like a majestic cape. Methos' fingers curled around the glossy locks, dragging Duncan down further into his mouth, unwilling to let him go.

Duncan's hips began to move, building up a slow, steady rhythm that Methos picked up and amplified back to him through their Quickening. The intensity was overwhelming; body, minds and Quickenings merging into one being, a being of sound, and taste, and feeling. Flashes of Quickening danced along the walls of the loft and between the two men, sound reached a crescendo as they came in an explosion of color...blues and greens and yellows and reds...red .... a flash of steel, a spark of light...

"No!" Methos screamed, running full speed up to the Immortal, sword raised high. Bloodlust coursed through his veins, blinding him to everything but the man who had just taken Duncan MacLeod's head. Methos stumbled as he felt Duncan's Quickening being drawn out of the now headless body, out of his own body, but he continued, taking the man's head before the Quickening could finish. Methos dropped to his knees, not caring about the Quickenings he was about to receive. His sole thought was to get to MacLeod. He started to move when the first barrage hit, sending him backwards along the floor, twisting his body, ripping a scream from his throat. Lights burst above him, raining sparks and glass onto the blood-splattered floor. Mirrors cracked along the walls, and the entire building shook. The office windows splintered, breaking into thousands of tiny shards, showering onto the three bodies in the dojo. Gasping for air, Methos started crawling, using his elbows to get closer to MacLeod. The double assault was almost more than he could stand, distorting his eyesight and causing a deafening roar in his ears.

"Highlander...don't leave me Highlander," he whispered, reaching out and touching the strong hand, running up the muscled arm to the neck..."I can't live without you, Duncan..."

"No!" Methos screamed, stumbling out of bed and falling to the floor, his feet caught in the sheets. Wild-eyed, he frantically searched for, and finally found, a bottle of tequila, gulping it down as fast as he could swallow. Gasping for air, he let the now empty bottle slip out of his hand onto the floor, then crawled back into bed.

Maybe the dreams would leave him alone for three or four hours now.

~~~~~

Sam smiled as Richard handed him a small carry-on, and they waited their turn to exit the plane. It seemed his current outward appearance was helping in some ways; Sam didn't need to worry about finding the rest of his luggage. Richard was more than obliging. Wondering if they were dating, Sam started to feel uneasy. But through the remainder of their flight, Richard had made no passes at him, only keeping his hand settled lightly on Sam's. A comforting touch. Sam sensed that the two of them, Richard and Amanda, had gone through something major together.

Sam was shaken out of his wonderings when Richard returned to where Sam had been standing, waiting by the luggage carousel. Richard handed Sam another small bag, then took the two larger ones himself. Sam almost offered to carry one, then looked down at himself. Amanda didn't seem the type to carry luggage, so he said nothing, just smiled.

"Want me to get a taxi?" Sam asked, his fingers itching to tug down on his maroon dress, but afraid that would reveal more of his ample cleavage. And the short coat Amanda chose to wear for a midwest winter was  _not_ helping matters.

Richard sent Sam a funny look. "We're getting a car, remember? And driving down?"

"Oh, right." Sam inwardly cursed. He knew better than to open his mouth before Al showed up. Speaking of the hologram, he hadn't made any appearances yet, and Sam had been there a good hour and a half. Hoping nothing was wrong, he quickly thought up an excuse. He gave Richard what he hoped was a seductive smile. "You know how I love to attract attention."

"Amanda, you do that breathing," Richard chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Come on. The rental's this way."

They were through the terminal in no time, and soon had the keys to a charcoal gray Lexus. Richard loaded their suitcases into the trunk, while Sam warmed up the car.  _The middle of a midwest winter, and you pick this outfit_? Sam chastised Amanda.  _What were you thinking_?

Richard slid into the car, rubbing his hands together. His breath was still coming in white puffs, but the heater quickly warmed him. He didn't attempt to pull out though, and Sam started to worry.

"Is something wrong?" Sam hesitantly asked, almost using the young man's name, nearly positive this man was Richard, but not willing to risk it just yet.

Richard sighed. "Yeah, the past two years." He shook his head. "Sorry. It was hard on me too, but Methos, he just..."

 _Methos? What kind of a name is that_? Sam filed the tidbit away, having a feeling that this 'Methos' was the reason they had taken the plane trip. "Yeah," Sam agreed softly, not wanting to commit himself to one train of thought or the other.  _Al, where are you_?

Richard shook his head, then threw the car into gear. "He's going to listen to us. He can't stay locked in that house forever."

Sam only nodded in answer, trying to piece together what 'it' might have been. His instincts told him that someone had been lost, and Methos was taking it hard. This person was close to all three of them, and they were going to try to cheer this Methos up. That didn't sound too bad...but he wished Al would show up, so he could be sure.

Settling himself comfortably, Sam prepared himself for the drive.

~~~~

May 12, 2005 somewhere in New Mexico, Project Quantum Leap

"Dr. Beeks, would you care to explain that again?" Albert Calavicci was not normally a patient man. Ever since the Project had Sam Leaping all through time, his patience - and temper - had shortened. Now was no exception. Dr. Beeks had called him to her office to discuss their latest 'patient.'

Verbeena Beeks folded her hands on the shiny tabletop, mentally counting to ten. Admiral Calavicci stared at her, narrowing his eyes. "She wanted to know if she was dead."

"Normal reaction," Al brushed it off, waving his cigar for emphasis. "So what's different?"

Verbeena sighed. "She wanted to know if she had lost the fight, and if the game was finished. And then she reached for something, muttering about her sword."

Al sat up a bit straighter, his curiosity piqued. "And?"

"And she wanted to know where the rest of the immortals were, and if this was the gathering."

Al closed his eyes slowly, then refocused on the attractive doctor. "So she's a nutcase, er, special case," Al smoothly corrected himself before Beeks could. "We've dealt with that before."

Verbeena shook her head. "She's not crazy. I've given her a few covert tests, and she falls within the normal range. No, there's something - strange about her. Would you mind talking to her?" she asked.

Al shrugged. It wouldn't be the first time he'd interacted with a patient. "Sure. She awake?"

"Yes."

Nodding, Al got to his feet, smoothing his aquamarine shirt, laying his banana yellow tie flat.

Verbeena winced. "You might blind her with that," she commented.

"Good. Then she won't notice my subtle charms," Al tossed back at the doctor, used to the comfortable ribbing shared between good friends. "And Tina will have nothing to be jealous of."

"Riiight," Verbeena rolled her eyes. Tina was always jealous, as Al had a perpetual 'wandering eye'.

Al sniffed, then left Verbeena with her coffee. Entering the Waiting Room, he waited for the door to close again before approaching the patient. This always unnerved him, seeing Sam, but talking to someone else. "Hello," he ventured, walking to where 'Sam' sat.

"Another one, hm? Look, all I want to know is, when can I go back," 'Sam' answered, waving his hands.

"What's your name?" Al asked suddenly, settling down next to 'Sam' on the bed.

'Sam' shot him a deadly glare. "Amanda. And who the hell are you?"

"Al," the Admiral answered, liking this Amanda's spirit.

"Al. Fine,  _Al_ , I have someplace I have to be. Are you going to let me out of here or not?" Amanda's gaze was relentless, boring straight through Al and sending shivers through him. It wasn't a pleasant sensation.

"I'm afraid it isn't up to me when you get out of here. It's up to...well, Fate," Al shrugged, never really sure what to call  _It_ \- whatever had caused Sam's invention to go ca-ca.

"Fate. Wonderful. Look," Amanda turned to Al, her gaze even more intense than before, "I have an appointment to keep." Amanda's entire persona changed, softening. "Can't you do  _anything_ to speed things up?" Amanda cooed, running a hand down Al's body.

Al jerked out of Amanda's grasp, startled out of his wits. "I told you, it's not up to me. And  _please_ don't do that again," he added under his breath. Obviously, she hadn't seen herself in a mirror yet.

"Why not?" Amanda demanded, hands firmly on hips.

Al shook his head, mentally looking for a way out of this position. "I just  _can't_ , okay? You're just going to have to trust us."

"I don't trust anybody," Amanda snapped, crossing her arms defiantly. There was something in her mannerisms, in the way she held herself, hip cocked to the side, eyes blazing. She meant every word she said, and she meant business.

"I realize that," Al answered truthfully. "But that's the best I can do. Look, just sit tight, and we'll get you back as soon as we can, okay?"

"Fine."

Al sighed and keyed the exit, leaving Amanda to fume quietly.

~~~~

Richard had been pleasant enough company, giving Sam a few details about their life without his awareness, but eventually, they had fallen into compatible silence. It gave Sam a chance to watch the landscape speed by, the dreary prairie grass, partially covered by snow every few miles or so. Highway signs said they were on I-70, heading west. They had been on the road for two hours, and Sam was getting edgy. Where was Al?

The sound of the chamber door caused Sam to jump, and Richard glanced his way. "You okay, Amanda?" he asked.

"Fine. Just dozed off," Sam muttered, wishing he had a bathroom to dodge into. As it was, he figured he had to settle to listening to Al talk.

"Hi Sam, sorry it took awhile. Ziggy was having problems digging up information about ...whoa, momma!" Al's monologue ended abruptly when the hologram looked up, spotting the car's other occupants for the first time. "Sam, you're a knockout!"

Sam gritted his teeth and said nothing.

Al got the hint, and forced his eyes back to the handlink he held. "I know, I know. I'll try Sam, I really will. But just  _look_ at those legs!" he moaned, distracted for a few seconds, tugging his lower lip between his teeth.

Sam's teeth emanated a soft grinding sound, and Al shook himself out of his daze.

"Okay, why you're here. Um, Ziggy couldn't find much on this Amanda. In fact, she couldn't find anything on this Amanda. We know the date is January 23, 2004, and you're in Missouri."

Sam lowered his head, presumably to pick lint off his coat, and Al interpreted, "You knew that already."

Sam raised his head fractionally.

"Okay. Well, then you know as much as we do. We're going to have to talk to Amanda about this one; there's no way around it. Boy, I wish she was wearing that body though!" Al commented lewdly before activating the door and disappearing.

Sam sighed.

~~~~

"Hi. Care explaining all this to me?" Amanda asked as she waved around Ziggy's Control Room.

Al had just stepped out of the Imaging Chamber when he stopped, staring at Amanda. "What?! How did you...that room was locked tight!" Al spluttered.

Amanda chuckled arrogantly. "There hasn't been a lock made that I can't break. So, you going to tell me about this, or do I have to beat it out of you?" There was that look again, the calm, steady gaze. She was capable of beating it out of him, if she wanted to. And she wanted to.

Al rubbed his face tiredly. "All right, all right. Let's get some coffee first. This'll take awhile. You're a part of Project Quantum Leap..." he began as they walked to the cafeteria.

~~~~~

Richard pulled off the main Interstate and onto Highway 47, and none to soon for Sam. He was getting a leg cramp from sitting so long. Glancing to the clock, he saw they had been driving for four hours.

They only went another two miles before Richard sighed and pulled into a driveway. Exiting the car, Sam walked around a bit, getting the stiffness out of his legs. He nearly slipped on the snow-covered road, catching himself on the car hood.  _These_ boots weren't made for walking.

A hand was instantly on his elbow, steadying him, and he whispered his thanks.

"No problem," Richard replied, glancing at the surrounding area. "Doesn't look like he's been out lately."

Indeed, the beat up 4x4 was covered with snow, and the driveway looked untouched. The woodpile alongside the house was nearly gone, but snow-topped, giving the impression that it had not been touched in days. Sam took in the house, smiling. It reminded him of his parent's farmhouse in Indiana. White, snow-covered, sitting in the middle of the half acre of cleared land. Upon closer inspection, Sam noticed the flaking paint and the sagging porch, signs of neglect.

"Are you sure he's here?" Richard asked, stamping his feet.

 _Oh, great, this trip was_ my _idea_ , Sam groaned to himself. "There's only one way to find out," he declared bravely - more bravely than he felt - as he headed through the snow and up to the porch. Sam nearly fell again, this time from the strange feeling. It was stronger than the one he felt when Richard came up to him - louder, somehow.

"He's here," Sam suddenly announced, not knowing how he knew that.

Sam heard the hiss of steel against steel, and Richard's voice hardened as he growled, "Or someone else." Sam's eyes widened at the katana Richard held firmly in his hands, and he backed up a step as the young man approached the door cautiously.

Sam's mouth went dry as Richard tested the door, then swung it open, his sword in front of him. Hearing nothing suspicious, Sam peeked his head around the corner and saw Richard, the katana now resting non-threateningly at his side. His head swung from side to side as he stared at the room. As Sam's eyes followed the same path, he couldn't blame the young man.

Dirty dishes lay everywhere. Dust covered everything. Clothes were tossed on the floor, and alcohol bottles were everywhere. Not just beer; hard liquor, any and all kinds of liquor you could imagine. The smell of dust made Sam sneeze, and another odor, pungent, made him put a hand over his mouth.

"Oh, my God," Richard breathed. "He's been drinking himself into a stupor."

Sam stepped gingerly into the room, finding his voice. "Where is he?"

Richard nodded to the stairs. "I'll check up there. You check that room. And be careful," he added with a glance to Sam's empty hands.

Sam wondered what he was supposed to be carrying, but shrugged as Richard headed cat-like up the stairs. Picking his way across the room, spotting a few mice nibbling on what little food was left on the floor, he made his way to the door. Taking a deep breath, Sam inched the door open, unsure of what he would find on the other side.

~~~~~

Methos had not felt another's Buzz in exactly one year, eleven months, and eight days. Well, maybe nine. He had been trying to forget how long he had been without his other half; when his soul had been split in two. Now, two Buzzes cut right through him, bringing with them reminders of the pain of living. He whimpered, burrowing himself deeper in the blankets, trying to push the offending sensation from his mind. From his soul. His soul didn't want reawakening...

Duncan growled, pushing Methos against the wall. "Thought you'd get away with it, did you?" the Scotsman teased.

Methos smirked, his eyes alight with mischief and lust. "Get away with what?" he played along, schooling his face into his best 'who, me?' look.

Duncan MacLeod shook his head, that glorious mane of hair sliding across his broad shoulders. "Not this time, old man. I  _know_ you emptied out my wardrobe. Where did you put my clothes?" Duncan demanded, his brogue thicker as he attempted to keep his anger, but it was dissolving fast as their closeness overrode his senses.

"Why would I do such a thing?" Methos declared with all the innocence he could muster. It was hard, with MacLeod so close, his breath tickling along his neck.

Duncan's sensuous lips curled in a dangerous smile, one that promised Methos would pay for his little prank. "So I would be forced to stay here and  _entertain_ you," Duncan whispered, suddenly leaning in and capturing Methos' mouth with his own, instantly lighting the liquid fire of their Quickenings along every nerve ending.

Methos felt Duncan's hands at his waist, tugging up on his shirt. His own hands slid along the expanse of MacLeod's back, feeling hard muscle ripple under silky skin.

"Duncan," Methos breathed, drawing the broad man tighter against him. "Take me."

"Take you where?" Duncan muttered, nipping along Methos' rapidly-being-exposed skin. "I can't go anywhere, because you've hid all my clothes."

"Damn it, Highlander," Methos growled, shoving his right leg between MacLeod's thighs, rubbing against the erection he found. " _Fuck_ me," he elaborated, his lips a bruising force against Duncan's.

~~~~~~

The first thing that hit him was that strange sensation, definitely louder, causing Sam to wince. The next thing that hit him - almost simultaneously - was the smell. Sam's eyes began to water, and he sneezed again.  _Not the best way to sneak up on someone_ , he ruefully thought to himself. Sam's eyes swept the room, coming to rest on the only object big enough to be a person. He moved to the bed, nudging aside what looked to be more bottles than the living room had, where a large pile of blankets moved slightly.

"Hello?" Sam whispered, kicking a bottle a bit too hard. It ricocheted off a dozen or so other bottles, making a rather pleasant ringing sound.

Muffled curses emanated from the bed, and Sam knew he had found this Methos. Still wary though, he pulled back layer after layer of blankets, the smell growing stronger. Finally, he reached the last sheet and peeled it off the thin body beneath. Clad in a filthy t-shirt and shorts, lay the man Sam was looking for.

Angry, bleary and nearly all-red eyes glared up at him. "'Manda," the man hissed, waving an unsteady arm in Sam's direction. "G'way. You brought it back."

"What?" Sam asked, kneeling down to roughly Methos' eye level.

"You brought him  _back_ ," the man wailed, swinging a half-empty bottle at Sam's head.

Sam caught the hand easily, plucking the bottle out of the unresisting grip. Wondering if he meant Richard, Sam turned his head and called out, "I found him," eliciting a pitiful groan from the man in the bed.

A thump and a muffled, "Coming," wafted from upstairs.

"Mind telling me why you're drinking yourself into a stupor?" Sam ventured, using Richard's words.

"Yes," the inebriated man hissed dangerously, yanking his hand back. "Now get the hell out of my sight."

Sam was about to reply, when that sensation tickled his brain again. This time, he just shuddered.

"Oh, man," Richard breathed as he appeared in the doorway. He shook his head as he approached the bed. "Methos, you're a mess." He said it with such concern that Sam knew they were friends.

"Get  _out_ ," Methos snarled rather drunkenly, getting hopelessly tangled in the sheets as he tried to sit up.

Sam and Richard both moved to help Methos, who swatted aimlessly at them. Soon, Methos was standing - more or less - wavering between the two who held him. "Methos, you need a shower," Sam commented, sure that Amanda would not put up with the ragged beard and offensive stench.

"Don't wanna...and I told you to get out." For a very inebriated man, Methos was starting to enunciate clearly. As Sam looked in his eyes, he saw they were starting to clear up.  _This man has an incredible alcohol threshold_.

Methos focused on Richard, shoving a finger with remarkable accuracy in his chest. "You. I told you to leave me alone."

Richard shook his head. "Methos, I couldn't do that. Mac wouldn't have wanted you to do this. You know that."

"I know  _nothing_ ," Methos suddenly turned, stumbling back to the bed. "And  _never_ mention his name to me again!"

Sam felt his heart go out to this man he didn't even know. It was obvious that this 'Mac' had meant a great deal to him. "Methos," Sam braved stepping in again, "you know we're right. Mac wouldn't have wanted you to grieve like this."

"I'll grieve any damn way I choose," was the snap answer. "I've been doing it for thousands of years, I  _think_ I know every fucking conceivable way to grieve."

 _Thousands of years? He's delusional_ , Sam diagnosed.

"Come on Methos. Don't do this. Please," Richard pleaded softly.

"Richie." Sam started, then realized that must be Richard's nickname. "Richie," Methos continued, his voice very soft. "I can't live like this. It's too much. I thought-" he choked, unable to continue.

"I know," Richie replied softly, kneeling down in front of Methos. Hesitantly, he reached out and grasped Methos' arm, squeezing. "I thought so, too."

 _I wish_ I _knew_ , Sam thought to himself, feeling helpless. Deciding coffee might bring some civilization back to Methos, he turned and headed for the kitchen. After searching for a few minutes, and knocking a few mice out of the way, Sam found some coffee. It looked untouched - in fact, it was unopened. Breaking the seal, he again searched, this time for a coffee pot. Finally finding an old fashioned one, he plugged it in and started a strong brew.

He waited a few seconds to make sure the coffepot would actually work, then stepped carefully back over to the bedroom doorway. Peering in cautiously, he listened, hoping to find out more about why he was there, and how he could help.

Richie sighed, eyeing Methos' shaggy hair. "You know he'd hate this," he murmured.

Methos took a deep breath, eyes shining with tears that he still hadn't shed, even after two years. "I know," he answered shakily. He suddenly sniffed. "Is that coffee?"

"Yes it is, but you don't get any until you shower," Sam announced, coming back into the room. "A shave wouldn't be bad either," he ordered, crossing his arms.

Richie chuckled when Methos growled, "Amanda, you are such a bitch."

Sam flinched, but instinct told him Methos meant it as an endearment. "One of the reasons you love me. Now, get to it."

Muttering in what Sam thought was Arabic, Methos rose and fought his way through the bottles to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Richie rose to his feet, sending Sam an admiring look. "I knew you could snap him out of it," he praised Sam.

Sam shook his head. "All I've done is get him out of bed. He has a long way to go."

Richie walked over and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "For one of us, getting out of bed is a  _big_ step."

Unsure what Richie meant by 'one of us,' Sam opted for his usual answer. He nodded, lowering his head to deflect any more questions. He heard the coffee perking, so went to scrounge up some mugs. As he poured three cups, he turned when he sensed the two men enter the room.

Methos looked considerably better; clean-shaven, he looked about 30. But his eyes were still bloodshot, and looked infinitely sad. He had tossed on some loose jeans and a faded sweatshirt that practically hung off his thin shoulders.

Sam looked at him sharply. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Mm," Methos looked around his house, spotting the bottle collection. "Do you mean food?"

Sam sighed impatiently, wondering how this man managed to survive on liquor alone. "Where's the closest store? Fast food will do," he asked, staring pointedly at Methos.

Methos looked ready to say something, then slumped into a chair, resting his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands. "Up the road. 'Bout two or three miles. Don't remember, really."

Sam raised his eyebrows at Richie, who nodded. "I'll be back. You still like cheeseburgers?" he asked Methos, who mumbled something unpleasant-sounding. "Guess not," Richie directed his comment to Sam, flashing a boyish grin before leaving Sam alone with Methos.

~~~~

Sam watched as Methos gulped down the coffee, not even flinching as he swallowed the burning liquid. Methos was on his third cup, and the haze seemed to be lifting. But the cloak of depression remained. Sam sat across from Methos, not saying a word. He picked up his mug for a sip.

Methos finally spoke. "I didn't expect you to bring the boy."

Sam nearly spilled his coffee. This was a new development. From the way Methos said it, Amanda had been expected, possibly even invited. Improvising yet again, Sam muttered, "It seemed like a good idea at the time. And he wouldn't stay," he added.

"Concerned for me, eh?" Methos snorted, shaking his head. "Don't know why that surprised me. He takes after..." he let the sentence trail off, finishing his coffee. "You still make good coffee," he whispered suddenly, smiling sadly.

"Thanks," Sam answered weakly, praying Richie returned soon.

"So, I guess since you did bring him, I have your answer."

Sam blinked, unsure of this part of the conversation. It was obviously a request that Methos had made of Amanda, and Richie's presence changed things. "Well," he hedged, wondering if Al had gotten anything out of Amanda.

Just then, he heard the Chamber door opening, and nearly jumped out of his chair with glee.

"Sorry, Sam, but you're not going to believe this. People living forever, running around cutting each other's heads off with swords...oh, it's The Schnozz," Al's monologue immediately changed directions as he looked up and saw Methos. "Sam we gotta talk."

Methos sighed. "I should have figured. Amanda, I ask you as a friend of...his, to please reconsider. If it isn't you, it'll be the next Immortal I come across."

Sam was sitting in stunned silence. First, Al's interruption and ramblings, then the man across from him saying the same thing. Luckily, that weird feeling coursed through Sam at just that instant, and Methos tensed, flicking his eyes to the door. Sam noted the gesture, his eyebrows raising as Richie opened the door seconds later.

"I found a mini-mart with some necessities, and for right now - it's time for the King!" Richie dumped his purchases down on the dingy table, and Sam made short work of putting the items away. Anything to give himself a few minutes to assimilate what Al had just told him.

Richie passed out the burgers, fries and drinks, and the three of them settled down to eat. Well, two of them, anyway.

"Methos." Richie's tone held a warning note to it, but he backed down at the glare the other man shot him.

Sam wondered at that. Methos looked to be in his early 30s, not all that much older than Richie. Yet Methos had - something - about him, authority maybe, that made Richie listen to him.

"Sam, I  _really_ have to talk to you," Al fidgeted, at the same time Methos directed his gaze to Sam, muttering, "I suppose you'll start in on me next."

Sam stole a glance to Al, and couldn't keep the smile from his face. That authority obviously didn't work on Amanda. "Well, since you mentioned it..." he answered both of them.

Glaring once more at Sam, Methos picked up a few fries and started munching. It was something, anyway. "Did you get more beer?" Methos asked Richie, wrinkling his considerable nose at the soft drink before him.

"No," Richie stated firmly. "This entire house could use some drying out. Not even you can keep that much alcohol in your system without doing damage."

Sam finished his burger and stood up. "I'll be right back," he promised, sending a significant look in Al's direction. Reaching the bathroom, he bolted the door and nearly walked right through Al.

"Al! Be careful, would you? I don't need a heart attack."

"Sorry," Al muttered, turning around and nodding to the wall behind the bathtub.

"Is there someone there?" Sam asked, knowing there had been a few times when the project was in danger of shutdown, and periodic 'checks' were made.

"Just Amanda. She's keeping me up to date on everything. Sam, listen to me. Open your coat-" At Sam's glare, Al rolled his eyes. "SAM, I'm serious. Open it and reach into the left side. There. Feel that?"

Sam's eyes widened, and he very carefully pulled out a short sword. "What's this?"

"A sword rapier." Sam gave Al an incredulous look, and Al shook his head. "Don't look at me. Amanda's feeding me this info. Anyway, she says to keep that on you at all times. It's the only way to defend yourself."

Sam studied the light, double-edged blade with interest. It had a gold hilt with a single ring on the crossbar - it was as beautiful as it was deadly. It fairly hummed in his hands, teeming with a life of its own. "Defend myself? Against what?"

"Other Immortals," Al answered gravely.

Sam lowered the sword, giving Al his patent 'explain-fast-I'm-getting-exasperated' look. "Immortals? As in - people who can't die?"

Al looked behind him again, nodding. "Well, it's sort of a misnomer. They can die, if you cut off their head."

Sam hissed, "Al, obviously this Amanda is delusional! People do not live forever."

"No, not forever. Just until they lose their heads." Al looked at his friend, deadly serious. "This is real, Sam. Someone could come after your head, and thwap!" Al made a cutting motion across his throat, "No more Amanda."

"And no more me," Sam muttered, suddenly afraid that this might be true; that he had Leaped into Amanda Darrieux, Immortal. He picked the sword back up, a thought occurring to him. Amanda carried a sword. He had seen Richie with a sword. Did Methos have one as well?

"What?" Al turned around, then back again. "Oh, Amanda says you can tell another Immortal by a 'Buzz'; a sensation of some kind. I don't know what good that will do  _you_..."

Sam raised his head slowly, staring at Al. "A sensation? Can she describe it?"

Al turned around, then faced Sam again, his face twisted in concentration. "She said it feels like a humming in your head. It's a warning device for Immortals. Must be nice," he cracked.

Sam's grip tightened on the hilt of Amanda's sword, and he paled considerably. "Al, I've sensed Richie! And I think I sensed Methos."

Al blinked. "Sam, you can't. You're not Immortal."

"But I've Leaped into one, haven't I?" Sam snapped. "Does Amanda know why she might be here? Why _I_ might be here?" he corrected.

A brief conversation ensued, which escalated into a one-sided fight in Sam's eyes. Al tossed what Sam believed were some comments about Amanda's parentage in Italian to the wall, then turned back to Sam, chomping on his cigar angrily. "All she'll tell me is that you're here for Methos."

~~~~~

Sam exited the bathroom to discover Richie gone, and Methos hunting through the cabinets. "Where'd Richie go?" Sam asked.

Methos slammed a cabinet door. "Getting some wood for the fireplace. Where the hell is it?"

"Looking for something in particular?" Sam watched as Methos started tossing things out of a lower cabinet, finally emerging with a bottle in his hand.

"Ahh, knew I had some more," he murmured, breaking the seal and attempting to open the bottle.

Sam was right there, snatching the bottle out of his hand. Methos stared up at Sam, his gaze deadly. "If you won't take my head, you  _will_ let me have that." Methos' voice rang with authority, his eyes never leaving Sam's, and Sam grew very uncomfortable. Thankfully, Richie entered with some semi-dry wood from the middle of the pile outside, interrupting them.

"Hey, it's snowing again," Richie announced as he shook wet flakes from his hair. "What's that?" he glared suspiciously at the bottle in Sam's hand.

"Vodka.  _My_ vodka," Methos stated, reaching out and taking back the bottle. He opened it and began chugging it like it was water.

Sam felt his insides churning as he watched Methos finish a good third of the bottle before coming up for air.

"Now that hit the spot," Methos sighed, sinking to the floor, cradling the bottle to his chest.

Richie dumped the wood near the fireplace, then moved to Sam's side. "What are we going to do with him?" Richie whispered to Sam, as both of them watched the other man take another long swig. "He's going to drink himself into oblivion."

"Yes I am," Methos declared loudly. "If I must live, I will live obflifous to the world," he stammered, slowly leaning to his right. He caught himself from falling over, then lifted the bottle to his lips again. Before it made contact, it was gone.

"Wha-?" Methos slurred, glaring angrily up at Sam, who was walking over to the sink with the bottle in his hand. "If you dump that, I will take your head."

Sam misstepped. Methos was one of these Immortals. Like Amanda. Visions of his head spinning across the floor caused another misstep. But how good could Methos be as drunk as he was? Taking a deep breath, Sam shot back, "You can't even stand."

Methos proved him wrong, with a determination that actually had Sam worried. Methos stood with feet planted slightly apart, waggling his fingers at himself, egging Sam on. "Try me."

"I won't fight you," Sam announced, wishing Al would reappear _now._

"You don't have to fight, you just have to die." With that, Methos ducked under Sam's arms, opening Amanda's coat and reaching for her sword. Unfortunately, he didn't exactly know where she kept it, so he missed it, as Sam landed a punch to his solar plexus.

"Getting a bit slow in your old age," Sam remarked, again wondering what possessed him to say that. The man didn't look that old, even if he was Immortal.

Methos cradled his midriff, trying to catch his breath. "Always were...cheater," he managed to utter between gasps.

"Oh, like you always played fair," Richie interrupted them, glaring at Methos. His gaze slid to Amanda, shooting her a reproachful look. "And was that really necessary?"

Sam's jaw fell open, and he stared as Richie helped Methos to the couch and lay him down. Sudden, unplaced and unexpected anger flared through Sam. "What do you expect me to do? He's self-destructing!"

Richie turned to Sam faster than Sam could blink, suddenly right in his face. "Is that why we're here, Amanda? To stop him from self-destructing? Or is it something more? Is that why you didn't want me seeing his letters?"

Surprised, Sam squeaked, "What letters?"

"The letters you've been getting from him for over a year. Amanda, I  _know_ something's up," Richie stressed. "I'm not stupid."

Sam swallowed, unsure how to answer. "I can't tell you. It's between us," Sam indicated Methos, at least sure of that. "I'm sorry, Richie."

"This is bullshit," Richie spat, glaring first at Sam, then at Methos. "You're a coward. After Mac died, Amanda and I went on living, Joe went on living. But you locked yourself away from the world. Don't you think we loved him, too? He was my father and my teacher," Richie exploded, leaning over Methos threateningly. "I felt the pain of his death, too, you know. You're not the only one hurting."

Methos rose to a sitting position, his entire demeanor threatening. His eyes darkened until the color was nearly gone, and his voice was hard, low, and as dangerous as he looked as he hissed, "You - feel - nothing!" His eyes filled with tears as Richie backed away. "What you feel is  _nothing_ compared to what I feel! You've never loved someone like that. You've never experienced that closeness with another Immortal. Goddess, Richie, we were  _joined_. Do you know what that means? It means I experienced happiness when he laughed. It means I cried when he felt sorrow. It means I fe-I fel-felt his d-death!" Methos' voice cracked, and he turned away from them, his body shaking.

Richie had turned deathly white as Methos spoke, and now he staggered, catching himself on a table before he hit the floor. "My God - oh, my God," he repeated.

Sam felt a numbness seep through him. He was having trouble with the concept of immortality, and the fact that he now was a woman who was Immortal. And now this man - this man was saying that they had the capability to share feelings? It was almost too much for his scientific mind, but one thing was clear; Methos believed it, and he was in more pain than any human being Sam had ever seen.

Walking unsteadily over to the shaking body, Sam kneeled down and lightly touched Methos' shoulder. "Methos. Look at me." The shaking continued, punctuated by low moaning. Sam sat on the edge of the couch, pulling Methos around until he could look the other man in the eyes. Methos kept his head ducked, so Sam settled for cradling Methos on his shoulder, crooning softly.

Methos' arms wrapped around Sam, his fists digging into Sam's back as he let loose with two year's worth of pain. Sam felt tears falling from his own eyes as he tried to comfort the man, getting pulled into his soul-deep sorrow.

Methos' grip tightened, and Sam felt his ribs crushing together. "Alone," Sam thought he heard Methos plead.

"Richie could you leave us for a bit? I need to speak to Methos alone," Sam suddenly asked.

"All right. I saw a bar in town; I'll be there. I could use a drink." Richie's color hadn't exactly returned to normal, and he still looked shaky. "Or four." Donning his coat, Richie left the two alone.

"Thank you," Methos whispered, taking deep breaths and wiping at his eyes. His face was red, his eyes matching his complexion, and he hiccuped.

"You're a mess," Sam commented lightly.

"You have no idea," Methos groaned, his eyes shining with tears again. "I didn't mean to hurt him. I just didn't think," he whispered, his voice soft as he rambled. "I had forgotten that Richie was there that day. He probably _did_ feel a bit of - well," Methos cleared his throat. "I do remember how astonished Joe was when we came out of his office. And the expression on his face when he told us about Richie. I think we must've scared him, because he surely didn't know what to make of it."

Sam didn't either, and he was getting further confused by the conversation. He wisely kept his mouth shut, letting Methos do the talking. Methos was the one who needed to talk anyway, not him.

Methos abruptly sobered, his expression falling back into the depression it had been in when Sam first found him. His eyes bore straight into Sam's, filled with a pain that seemed older than the man. An ancient pain, one that spoke of long buried lovers and wives, of long-lost children, of deep-seeded regrets. The gaze was older than the house they sat in; older than most things that flitted through Sam's mind. "You felt a little of it too, didn't you?" Methos asked suddenly, and Sam was too mesmerized by that gaze to think.

Sam chose a silent answer, merely glancing away and turning his head slightly. It seemed to be answer enough, as Methos cupped Sam's face and turned his head back to face him.

"I'm sorry, Amanda. So very sorry that you had to feel this, too. But you felt a tiny fraction of what I've been feeling. That is why I wrote to you. Why I'm asking you to help me. I cannot live like this. A vital part of me is missing, and I can never recover it. Please Amanda. Help me," he pleaded, his voice rough and sounding old. So old that it sent a shiver down Sam's back.

"Methos," Sam began, unsure of how he should be handling this. "I know you're hurting. I know you miss him. I do too. But would he have wanted this? Would Mac have wanted you to give up your life, too?"

"He died, and I should have died with him," Methos answered, his voice laced with steel and determination.

Methos' hand was cold on Sam's face, and it sent another shiver down his spine. "Methos, I-" What could he say to the man? 'Sure, I'll kill you?' He couldn't. "I can't."

Methos removed his hand from Sam's face, clenching into a tight fist. "Dammit Amanda! I'm suffering! And I will continue to suffer until someone takes my head. I chose you because you're old enough to handle it, and you loved MacLeod too." Unbeknownst to Methos, he had finally spoken the name of his lover. The realization kicked in, and Methos started to hyperventilate, clutching at his chest with one hand, and Sam's arm with the other. "Please, Amanda," he rasped.

Sam quickly analyzed Methos' condition, and tried to calm him down. "Methos, you're not thinking clearly..."

Methos was having none of it. He grew angrier, explaining forcefully, "I don't want to let some punk youngling take my Quickening. I want to give it to someone who knew MacLeod. Who loved him. I want to give it to you, Amanda." His grip tightened on Sam's arm, and he repeated, "Please, Amanda."

Sam was at a loss. He had no way of knowing if Amanda had taken Methos' head or not. Without Al there, he couldn't make that decision. "I'll think about it," Sam ventured, trying to gently pry Methos' fingers from his arm. For a man who had been living on alcohol for two years, he was surprisingly strong.

"Thank you," Methos whispered, all the energy suddenly leaving him. His head dropped back, and he was soon snoring lightly.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Now all he had to do was find out what he was supposed to do. //Al, where are you?// he called mentally through time.

~~~~~~~

Amanda paced in front of Ziggy, refusing to answer the computer's questions. "No. I can't tell you that. I've already said much more than I'm supposed to!"

"I cannot properly project Doctor Beckett's success if I do not have at least adequate information. Gooshie, please explain to her."

The redhead nervously fluttered at the control panel, giving Amanda an equally nervous smile. He never liked the patients seeing Ziggy. "It's true. If she doesn't get enough information, Dr. Beckett could do something wrong, and he might not Leap. And that would leave you stuck here."

"Oh no. I'm not getting stuck _here_ ," Amanda pointed to the floor for emphasis.

"Then you must supply me with the information I need," Ziggy rationalized. "And you must do it soon. I believe Doctor Beckett has reached a climatic turn."

"What does that mean?" Al demanded, waving his cigar madly.

"It means that Doctor Beckett has been given a question that he must answer. Whether to take the head of Methos or not. Amanda, what should he do?"

Amanda chewed on her fingernail, deep in thought. She finally sighed, letting her arms drop to her sides. "I don't know. I was planning to. I felt it was something I owed him. But now I'm not so sure. How is he doing?" she asked, turning to face Al.

Al blinked at her, his mind catching up to the conversation. "Not good. The house is a mess, looks like he's been boozing it up pretty well. And I should know," he added under his breath. "He just had some sort of breakdown, and Sam had to calm him down. He's asleep right now."

"Emotional exhaustion," Dr. Beeks diagnosed, walking into the room. "Sounds like it to me. What happened to him, anyway? That might help us."

Amanda sighed. "Conference room. You're going to need some coffee." Al groaned, and Amanda glared at him. "FINE. Short version: his lover was killed; he killed the killer, and now half of himself can never be recovered."

"What?" Al asked, choking on his cigar. Gooshie paled. Verbeena nodded her head slowly.

"He's feeling guilt?" Verbeena asked Amanda.

Amanda shrugged. "Not so much guilt. They were connected in a very special way. It was like they had joined forces; literally a part of him is missing."

"His soul mate," Al breathed.

"More than that," Amanda corrected. "Part of Methos' Quickening was ripped from him when MacLeod died. And what there was of Duncan's in him. But he got it back, sort of...it's a bit complicated..."

Ziggy interrupted them. "I am sorry to interrupt you, but I have a projection. There is a 65% possibility that Doctor Beckett must kill Methos in order to Leap."

Dead silence filled the room at the computer's announcement.

"No. No," Amanda shook her head. "He can't."

"I thought you said you were thinking about doing it!" Al cut her off.

"I was!" Amanda cried. "But you don't know what he's been through. You don't know what you're asking."

"What are we asking?" Verbeena cut in, seeing that Al was about to explode.

Amanda got very nervous and started toying with her hair. "Um, maybe I shouldn't have brought it up."

"What?" Al growled.

Amanda swallowed hard. "He's very important to the Ga...he's important," she checked herself. "Due to his age."

"His age? How old is he?" Verbeena asked, her voice low.

Amanda took a deep breath. "Our nearest guess, including his own, is a little over five thousand."

"Five thousand - what?" Al asked, his brain on 'freeze' at the number she tossed out.

"Years. Five thousand years old. I'm over eleven hundred," Amanda snapped, her patience running out. "How much longer does this Beckett have to decide?" she asked the walls.

"One hour, fifteen minutes. That is when Richard Ryan will return from the Watering Hole," Ziggy informed everyone.

~~~~~

The Chamber door opened, and Sam turned quickly, waving Al to follow him. Methos was still asleep on the couch, and he didn't want to risk waking him. Closing the bedroom door behind him, Sam turned and would have bumped into Al, had Al actually been there. As it was, Sam walked right through him.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," Sam hissed.

"Sorry," Al automatically answered. "Sam, we have a problem."

"When don't we?"

Al kept on going as if Sam hadn't spoken. "Ziggy says there's a 65% chance that you're here to...take Methos' head."

"Take it? How - whoa, no," Sam shook his head, realizing what Al meant. "I can't. I won't! I will not kill another human being!"

"Sam, you might not Leap if you don't."

Sam's eyes narrowed as he studied his best friend. "What did Amanda have to say about this?"

"Amanda doesn't know. She came out here, intending to follow through with the original plan - which was to take Methos' head and Quickening..." Al shrugged. "But she's had a change of heart."

"Great. There's no history of this anywhere?" Sam begged.

"Nope," Al replied, just as Amanda called out to him.

"Electrical storm."

Al turned around, seeing Amanda just outside the Imaging Chamber door. He fixed her with a wary look. "What?"

She was excited, waving her arms wildly. "Can this Ziggy check if there was a massive lightning or electrical storm at any time in this area? When we take another Immortal's head, their energy is transferred to us," she hastily explained. "There's an incredible light show that accompanies that."

"Okay. Ziggy?" Al called, knowing the computer monitored conversation in the Imaging Chamber.

"I am searching, Admiral," Ziggy's prim voice assured him. Two seconds later, she reported, "There was a massive electrical outtage reported in the area surrounding and including where Doctor Beckett is currently, on January 23, 2004."

Amanda's eyes filled with tears. "I did it. I really did it."

Al grinned. "No! That means you _did_ it. Sam's there to change things."

"You mean Methos will live?" Amanda asked in a very small voice. "This Sam won't have to take his head?"

Al nodded, chewing on his cigar. "Lady, you're lucky. Sam Beckett couldn't have killed him if he wanted to."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "I take it Ziggy has changed her projections?"

Al punched at the handlink. "Yep. Down to 15% for taking Methos' head. Looks like we have to find another reason."

"What about helping Methos through his grief?" Sam suggested. "He's still going to want someone to kill him. I can't leave until he feels ready to live again."

Al slapped the blinking handlink a few times, then shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

Sam nodded, feeling more secure as he watched Al disappear back into the Imaging Chamber.

~~~~~

Al exited the Imaging Chamber, intense relief flooding his body. This Leap hadn't been that hard, but it certainly had been strange. Immortals, games, a five-thousand year old man...it was all a bit much. As he walked down the ramp, he noticed Gooshie was staring at him, even more nervous than usual.

"What?" Al checked his outfit, not seeing anything out of place.

"Um, Admiral," the chief programmer stammered, "There's ah, a problem."

Al felt his blood pressure rise slightly. "Where? With who?" he asked, exaggerated patience keeping his voice low.

Gooshie's hand shook as he pointed to the Waiting Room. "In there. With Amanda."

Al sighed impatiently. "What now? She wants to go outside and see the world?"

"She's upset," Gooshie stage whispered. "Dr. Beeks is with her now."

"So? She's in good hands then. As soon as Sam Leaps, she's outta here." Al jerked his thumb back to the Imaging Chamber.

"Yes, well...could you talk to her, Admiral? At least see her? She was asking for you earlier." Gooshie's hands fluttered over Ziggy's control panel, making minute adjustments even as his voice cracked from nervousness.

Al took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he counted to ten. "All right. I'll talk to her. Will that make you happy?"

"Intensely, Admiral," Gooshie remarked, a grin splitting his face.

Al stuck his cigar in his mouth, chomping down on it. "Great," he muttered around the cigar, turning and entering the Waiting Room. Before he reached it, he heard the sobs and halted. He hated hearing a woman cry. He hated seeing any woman cry. Pulling himself to his full height, he entered, nodding to Verbeena.

"Anything I can do for you, Amanda?" he asked soothingly.

Amanda looked up at him, tear-tracks staining her face. She sniffled. "No. Yes. I don't know." She took the tissue Verbeena offered her and wiped at her eyes. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I mean, Methos is alive. I don't know why I'm crying..." she sniffled again, twisting the tissue between her hands.

Al nodded at Verbeena, who stood and exited quietly. Al moved to sit beside Amanda, whose head immediately fell to his shoulder. He put his arm around her, rocking her gently. "Want to tell me what this is really about?" he asked quietly.

Amanda sniffled again, though Al felt her shrug. "I don't know. I know that Methos is safe, at least from me. But why did I even think about it in the first place? What could have possessed me to even _think_ about taking his head? He's been a good friend to me, Al."

Al heard the change in Amanda's tone at her last sentence, and sudden understanding found him nodding. "A good friend? Or something more?"

At that, Amanda sat up. "No," she stated firmly, pushing herself up off the bed and starting to pace. "Methos was involved with MacLeod. Before that, he was involved with Alexa. And I had been involved with MacLeod on and off through the years. It couldn't ever happen."

"Why not?" Al asked simply.

Amanda snapped her full attention to the Admiral, her eyes hard as diamonds. "Have some respect. MacLeod has only been dead two years."

"Ah, so this is guilt talking," Al mused, leaning back and taking another puff of his cigar, rolling it between his fingers as he flicked ash onto the floor. "Is it for Methos or MacLeod?"

Amanda's eyes narrowed, her nose wrinkling as she thought seriously about Al's question. "No, not guilt really. We're a pretty loose group of people. And Methos never minded when I stayed the night at MacLeod's, even when they were together. That's...just the way we were." She smiled softly, her face taking on a faraway look.

Al looked up at Amanda then, studying her expression. "If that's true, and you actually liked this guy, why were you willing to kill him?"

"Because he asked me," Amanda snapped, turning her back to Al.

"That's it?" Al asked, suspicious. "He just asked you to kill him and you agreed?"

"No." Amanda's voice was very soft as she answered. "He had been writing to me, every couple of weeks, these short, incredibly intense letters, about his feelings. How he felt, _what_ he felt, on a daily basis. It tore at me, here," she patted her chest lightly with her fist. "For someone to feel that much constant pain..."

"You took pity on him," Al finished for her.

Amanda shook her head. "It was more than that. He shouldn't have to suffer anymore. Not after everything he had gone through. He and MacLeod had a very short, but intense, life together. Both of them were threatened at one time or another by one of Us. Both always trying to hide Methos' real identity from the world. It was a constant stress on Methos, and MacLeod. But somehow, they always managed to stick together." She smiled again at remembered times.

"So, why were you willing to kill him?" Al asked again.

Amanda's voice was soft, almost a whisper as she answered, "I was his friend. He asked me as a friend, of not just him, but of MacLeod as well. It was what he wanted. And even though I wanted him to live, he didn't." She turned to face Al, and her eyes were glittering with tears. "And it was his life."

Al tried to distance himself from the hurt on Amanda's face, but it was getting increasingly difficult. But, he forced himself to go on. "You thought he had something to live for?"

"Yes," she stated emphatically.

When she didn't elaborate, Al studied her closely. The tissue was shredded, pieces falling like snowflakes to the floor. Her lower lip was in her mouth, being worried between her teeth. He was so close to getting the real answer from her. Just a few more choice questions should do it. "Well? What did he have to live for?"

Amanda's eyes darkened as she growled, "Me, dammit! I love him like an older brother. No, it's more than that," she corrected herself, pacing again. "It's too complicated. He was involved, then I was, but there was never a right time...and then MacLeod...there was never a right time," she repeated, assuring herself as well as Al.

"But what about now? He'll need someone to help him through this."

"I can't," Amanda shook her head. "No."

"You're his friend. You were willing to kill him to ease his suffering. Why can't you be just as willing to be by his side?" Al coaxed.

Amanda stared hard at Al, narrowing her eyes. "What makes you an expert on relationships, anyway? You don't know anything about us."

Al chuckled. "Lady, I've had five wives, and a hell of a lot more lovers. Trust me, I know women. And I know you really do care for this Methos. So, why not show him some of that, huh? If you're both hurting over MacLeod's death, then help each other through it. Lord knows I've had my share of death in my life too." Al's face took on a haunted expression for a second, then faded just as quickly. "Talk to him. Let him know he's not alone."

Amanda sniffed one more time, then nodded. "Okay," she whispered. She walked over to Al and placed a kiss on his cheek. "And thank you."

Al gruffed a reply, fiddling with his cigar, refusing to acknowledge the blush he could feel creeping up his face.

~~~~

Sam settled on the floor next to the couch, waiting for Methos to wake up. He watched the other man's face as he slept, wondering just how old he really was. Sam tried to piece together the bits and pieces he had gotten during his brief stay, but it only confused him more. Deciding to let that train of thought go, he relaxed, content to just wait. When Methos stirred, then moaned, Sam guessed he was experiencing a nightmare.

Tossing fitfully, Methos moaned again, choking back a sob. He suddenly bolted upright, gasping for air. He saw Amanda, and took her in his arms. "Tell me it was a nightmare. Tell me he's still alive," he whispered.

"I think you know he's not," Sam replied softly, keeping Methos in a tight hug. "You're going to have to find a way to get over this, Methos. You can't keep living in the past."

"I am the past," Methos declared in a voice beyond his young-looking years. "If I don't remember MacLeod, who will?"

"I will. Richie will. Everyone he's touched will remember him. He will never be gone, Methos," Sam assured him.

"No, he's not gone." Methos' voice hardened, and his grip tightened around Sam. "He's inside me, at least part of him, but I can't feel him anymore. He's as good as dead in me."

//Uh, oh.// Sam suddenly felt way in over his head. //Aaaallllllll!!!!// Luckily, Methos continued, probably not realizing what he was revealing.

His voice dropped to a soft cadence. "Not even the knowing is enough. I want to feel him again, taste him, make love with him. I want to tease him endlessly about being a big boyscout; I want to give him his St. Valentine's present..." Methos' voice trailed off, and he started shaking again. "Why couldn't we have had one more day? Just one more day."

"I don't know," Sam answered truthfully, raking his fingers through Methos' shaggy hair. "I know that doesn't help. But-"

"I know," Methos replied softly, his face darkening. "The damn Game had to interfere, and now the world is bereft of Duncan MacLeod." His expression softened and a small smile brightened his face. "Do you know what I was going to give him for St. Valentine's? A first edition of the Eagle Scout Handbook. I figured a boyscout like him might need it." Methos laughed shortly, the laugh quickly turning into a soft sob.

Methos fell bonelessly into Amanda's arms, letting his head fall to her shoulder. After a few minutes, he quieted again. He muttered something that Sam couldn't catch.

"What was that?" Sam asked, pulling Methos away from him.

Methos sniffed, swallowing hard. "What can I do? I have nothing to live for, Amanda. In a very short time, he became closer to me than anyone had in a very long time. How can I live without him?"

Sam again ran his hand through Methos' hair, brushing it off his face. "The best thing for you to do is live, Methos. If a part of him is inside of you, then you must live, so he can live too. You wouldn't want him forgotten, would you?"

"No," Methos replied darkly.

"Then, you must live, for his sake. And not this," Sam waved to the badly neglected house. "This is not living. I mean going out, experiencing life. In some way, he will be experiencing it too."

More tears were slipping down Methos' face, but the consuming depression seemed to be lifting. "You really think so? You think that by my living, MacLeod will live as well?"

Sam felt a smile tugging at his lips. "If he's a part of you, then yes. You know he wouldn't want this," he added gently.

"I know," Methos answered, releasing a shaky breath. "All I want now is this ache to go away." He rested his hand over his heart, digging his fingertips into his chest.

"I know," Sam whispered, remembering a time when his brother had died, and how he wished he could have saved him. "But it might never go away. But you can learn to live with it. You must live because he would have wanted you to."

"Live, grow stronger, fight another day?" Methos answered, his voice raw with emotion.

"Something like that," Sam murmured.

"I don't know if I can," Methos admitted. He raised his eyes to stare intently at Sam, as if trying to read Amanda's soul.

Sam shifted uneasily. "I'll help you. So will Richie," he promised.

Methos reached out, pushing an errant strand of hair off Sam's face. There was a different light in his eyes when he looked at Sam, and Sam grew very uncomfortable. He recognized that look.

"Um, Methos, Richie should be back any minute..." Sam started to protest, then relaxed as he felt the beginnings of the Leap start.

"So? If you want me to live, I want something to live for. Amanda, I once teased-" Methos paused, taking a deep breath before uttering the name, "Duncan about dating you. I never wanted to come between the two of you, and yet, I did it anyway by stealing him from you."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, then Leaped, whatever he was going to say lost forever.

Amanda gasped as she found herself on a couch, with Methos cupping her face, running his thumb over her lower lip. "Help me feel alive again, Amanda," he pleaded.

Amanda felt tears prick her eyes, and a sense of deja vu filled her senses, but she pushed it aside. She smiled up at him, running her hand along his arm. "What can I do? What can I give you?" she asked softly.

"You," Methos murmured, leaning in and kissing her throat.

Amanda moaned, wrapping her arms around Methos' neck. Their lips locked, desperate need filling both of them as Methos pushed her back to the couch, covering her body with his.

~~~~~

Gooshie breathed a sigh of relief as Ziggy announced that Dr. Beckett had Leaped. Al rolled his cigar around in his hand, doing an abrupt about-face and headed to his office.

"Ziggy, bring up current information about Amanda and Methos," he instructed the hybrid computer.

Ziggy hummed quietly for a few seconds, then announced, "I am afraid there is no information, Admiral. The names supplied by Amanda while she was here are no longer in existence."

Al huffed. "Figures. Well, maybe for some things, it's better that we don't know."

"Admiral?" Ziggy inquired.

"Nothing Ziggy. Good night," Al responded, allowing his tone to soften to one of affection.

"Good night, Admiral," Ziggy replied, surprise inflected in her reply.

"Well, you two, I hope you made it okay," Al whispered to the darkness around him.

~~~~

**December 21, 2004**

Amanda placed the small box on the pillow next to Methos' head. Bending down, she placed soft kisses on his cheek and neck, taking gentle bites out of the tender skin.

Methos stirred, moaning softly. Amanda grinned, running her finger lightly down Methos' exposed arm. "Methos," she whispered. "Methos, wake up."

"G'way," the elder Immortal muttered, burying his face deeper into his pillow.

"Methos," Amanda singsonged, reaching out to tickle him. Her hand was stopped by Methos', and she stared at him in shock.

"Caught you," he murmured, pulling her down and giving her a deep kiss. She squealed as he tickled her, squirming and elbowing him in the ribs.

"Ow!" he protested, shoving her onto the floor. "That wasn't very nice."

"And neither was that," Amanda retorted, picking herself up off the floor and straightening her clothes. "Now get dressed."

"Yes ma'am," Methos drawled, getting his hands up in time to fend off the thrown pillow. "All right! All right! I surrender!"

"Better watch what you say, mister. I just may take you at your word." Amanda turned with a swing to her hips, giving Methos full advantage of her exit.

Methos openly stared, grinning. Amanda was so predictable. He threw the covers off, for the first time noticing the small box. Curious, he pulled the ribbon off and opened the lid, a gasp escaping his lips unnoticed. Nestled inside were pictures.

With shaking hands, Methos picked them up, swallowing. He remembered when they had been taken; a few days after their Quickenings had joined. They had been holed up in the loft for a week, and Amanda had dropped by with good wishes and good wine. After the all night poker party, she had left, but claimed she wanted a souvenir. So, they had all posed for the camera, making faces and lewd suggestions.

In the top picture, Amanda was sticking her tongue out at the camera, her arms and legs crossed. Methos was on one side of her, MacLeod the other, and they were both licking her face. In the next one, Amanda was leaning over MacLeod, licking his nose. Methos was behind her, holding a baseball bat with one hand while pointing to her behind with the other.

Methos smiled, then flipped to the next picture. His eyes filled with tears as he saw himself, wrapped in the Highlander's strong grip, both of them oblivious to the camera as they kissed passionately. Turning quickly to the next picture, Methos burst out laughing. Amanda had gotten a can of whipped cream and had started squirting both he and MacLeod, and they retaliated with whatever they could find... drenching Amanda with what was left of the wine. The remainder of the pictures were of he and MacLeod, though he didn't remember Amanda taking any more pictures. Both of them side-by-side on the couch, legs tangled together as they stared moodily at the fireplace. Methos brushing his fingertips against MacLeod's strong jaw, a look of wonder on his face. MacLeod, an equal look of wonder on his face as he bent to kiss him.

Methos put the pictures back in the box, ignoring the tears falling from his eyes. He got out of bed and went into the kitchen, where he grabbed Amanda and hugged her tight.

She smiled against his shoulder. "You're welcome," she whispered, stroking his hair. "I have more of him, when you're ready to see them."

Methos nodded, then pulled back, planting a shaky smile on his face. "How did you know - you know what today is?"

She nodded, smiling sadly. "I figured it was time for happy memories. In honor of his birthday." She had decided not to remind Methos about his nightmares; they had stopped two months ago. The extra time was just a precaution. "Now, how about some breakfast? You know we have to leave for the airport in less than two hours."

Methos took a deep breath, going along with the change of subject. "All right, all right. Gods, you are a nag," he remarked, not ducking in time to avoid Amanda's hand on his head. "Ow." He rubbed his head as he sat at the table.

"Serves you right. I should make you get your own breakfast, too." Amanda sighed as she watched Methos' face school into his best pleading look. "Don't try that on me. I've got it perfected." She let her lower lip stick out, giving Methos her best pouty look. "See?"

Methos relented, pulling her onto his lap and giving her a quick kiss. "I concede. You are the best manipulator east of the Mississippi."

Amanda's grin lit her whole face, and she jumped up to allow Methos to get his breakfast. As she headed to the bathroom, she halted. "Wait a minute. We're _west_ of..." her sentence trailed off, and she turned to glare at Methos, who was grinning triumphantly at her.

"Gotcha." Methos raised his fork in salute, then finished preparing his breakfast. He let his mind drift, hearing Amanda humming softly as she got ready. Joe had invited them up for the holidays, and they had agreed, looking forward to seeing Richie and his girlfriend again. Maybe the world wasn't so bad, after all. As long as there was someone to share it with.

The End


End file.
